


Falling Heroes

by salmonellafitzgerald



Category: The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-15
Updated: 2017-12-15
Packaged: 2019-02-15 06:54:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13025619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/salmonellafitzgerald/pseuds/salmonellafitzgerald
Summary: Karen fights to uncover the truth, and give voice to those who have been hurt, forgotten, and lost in the system. However, dangerous men control the city and will fight, or kill, to keep the truth concealed. Can Frank protect her? Or will her pursuit for truth and justice kill them both?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I haven’t written a fic since 2014 and somehow between then and now, I forgot how to make chapters. That’s why the story seems divided in arbitrary places. Also, there is a LOT wrong with this story. I’m sorry for that, but I needed to get it out there. I hope it isn’t too awful of a read. 
> 
> Finally, this thing contains violence, and mention of rape. If that is something you find triggering, please proceed with caution.

What is a hero? Are heroes just men with secrets, hidden agendas, that never come to light?

 

I have asked myself that more times than I can count since meeting Frank Castle. How can one man take blow after blow in defense of a memory, a beautiful, but vanishing memory, and still burden himself to remain within his moral code. He was a troubled, controversial figure. A fallen angel. The city loved him, and they hated him. But he was a man. He had a family. He had a past, a story to tell, and a truth that was his.

 

I should have stayed away, just like he asked me to. Or really, maybe it was me he should’ve stayed away from.  Unfortunately, we do not always do what is best for ourselves, as you will see. Instead of moving forward, I threw myself into the pursuit of the truth. Like Ben once said, “for every exposé I’ve had published, there are a dozen that didn’t pan out.” This was my truth, until it wasn’t.

 

I was given a fluff piece on Juvenile rehabilitation 8 weeks ago today. I was bitter, believing that Ellison had given me this particular piece to keep me out of trouble. So, I went to Millcreek Juvenile detention center with the expectation of interviewing one or two troubled teens who had benefited from their education and vocational programs, which had been a staple in the news lately. Chasing scraps.

 

When I arrived at the privately-owned facility, which I fully intended to explore further, I was lead to a room and introduced to two boys, 15 and 17, clearly chosen for their upper middle-class manners. I recorded their fake enthusiasm for the program, which their parents likely made them participate in as a scared straight program, and smiled. When they were done talking, I leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially,

 

“So how is it in here. Like really? They treat you guys well, feed you?”

 

The boys laughed, but didn’t answer. I smiled again.

 

“Well, I guess I have everything I need then. I understand that you guys have volunteered to give me a tour? I’d like that.”

 

They led me through the building, pointing and explaining. The place was very antiseptic, considering how many juveniles that it housed. Beds were made, bathrooms clean. The place was neat, tidy, and everything that the city could possibly want. Nothing here to pull at their sensibilities. Nothing to raise any questions or throw any flags, which to me wasn’t believable.

 

I waited until my guides had walked around a corner and stopped to speak with a boy mopping the floors.

 

“Hi, I’m Karen. Can I talk to you for a second?”

 

The boy cast his eyes down and kept mopping the floor silently.

 

“Well, maybe you can just keep working and I’ll talk? Would that be okay?” I continued after he failed to respond. 

 

“Sometimes places like this aren’t very nice places to be. They have secrets. I wonder if this is the kind of place that has secrets.” Nothing. I probed further, “Um, maybe you can just tell me your name?”

 

His voice was cracked with disuse. His name was Tom Sullivan, and I was struck by how similar this boy was to Frank. His dark hair, determined air. I wondered what Tom had been like on the outside, if he also liked to do impressions of people or played guitar, if he too had lost people that he loved or if he had a family waiting for him to be released.

 

“Well Tom, it’s really nice to meet you, my name is Karen. Karen Page. Is it okay if I maybe come visit you again?”

 

He looked up at that moment, eyes unreadable, and nodded. When my guides had realized that I defected, they came back around the corner to look for me. This caused Tom to put his head back down quickly and I wondered if maybe these boys had been harassing him.

 

“That’s great Tom, well, I have to go for now, but I’ll see you real soon.” This time, Tom didn’t look up. He continued on his job.

 

We went through the rest of the tour, but I was no longer able to dedicate my attention to it. We reached the polished sliding doors in the front of the facility. The bottle blonde receptionist waived goodbye. I returned the gesture, and then returned my hands to my sides.

 

I didn’t feel like going back to the office. Before the first stoplight had turned green, I decided to visit the County Clerk’s Office. I wanted as much information as I could find on Tom Sullivan’s case. Once again, Ben’s words pushed me. “Doesn’t matter what I think, matters what I can prove.”

 

During the days of Nelson and Murdock, the boys and I had helped a high school library tech who had been accused of selling illicit substances on school property. He had been set up as a fall guy for a school administrator. The administrator and a local cop had a profitable operation going, in which the cop brought in drugs, and the administrator used a few “troubled” kids throughout the school district to help sling the product. Luckily the officer was behind bars. Unluckily, the administrator had enough money to stay out of a cell. I helped the Bulletin publish an exposé that eventually led to his abrupt departure from the city. One of the very few wins that I scored recently.

 

That library tech was now an employee at the clerk’s office, and more than willing to give me access to anything I needed. Robert. Rob patted my shoulder nervously when I walked up, led me to an old computer in the back, handed me a cup of cold coffee and went back to work.

 

I flipped through the arresting officer’s account, which had been entered into records as evidence. The arresting officer, against the testimony of a second eyewitness, stated that the kid had been violent, detached and trying to attack him. I couldn’t reconcile that with the quiet, mild mannered boy that I saw mopping floors.

 

By what I could put together, Tom had been living with his mother and working for a butcher’s shop. His mother had some sort of mental deficiency that may or may not be shared by Tom. However, on the day he was arrested, he had been trying to help his mom get to a doctor’s appointment when he was jumped by a couple of street thugs. One of them lost and eye, but the other one was not as lucky, self-defense through and through; however, Tom had been convicted anyway. Due to his age, he was placed in Millcreek.

 

The judge, James Garonne, had shown no leniency, and despite the recommendations of the boy’s attorney’s and even pressure from the state, Garonne had not relented. This had left a very sour taste in my mouth. After thanking Rob for his help, I left to try to interview Tom’s mom. I had scribbled the directions from one of the papers in Tom’s file.

 

The door leading into the hall was broken, and small dirty children were running around, unsupervised. Their laughter was infectious and I couldn’t help but smile at them. Unfortunately, that small spark of contentment soon disappeared as I knocked on Tom’s mother’s door, Tawny, and received no answer. After a few more attempts, I turned to leave, but saw a head peeking from a door across the hall. I walked over and smiled. My acknowledgement startled the occupant and caused her to shuffle inside and slam her door. Undeterred, I knocked softly and introduced myself.

 

“Do you mind if I ask you some questions please? I’m not with the cops or anything.”

 

The head peeked back outside. The woman was older, late forties. Her face had soft wrinkles, but the skin had not yet creased at the depth you associate with advanced age.

 

“Does Tawny Sullivan still live around here?”

 

“She’s dead.” The voice croaked back at me.

 

“Could you please tell me what happened to her?” The woman didn’t invite me inside her home. She kept me at arm’s length through the entire, brief, interview. I didn’t dare open my notepad for fear of startling her back inside. She explained that Tawny’s health had declined after her son had gone away and that she eventually had been taken away to live in a nursing home. She lasted only two months before dying.

 

I could feel my eyes welling with tears, and wondered if anyone had bothered to tell Tom about his mother. I suspected that they hadn’t.

 

During my conversation with the dark headed woman, whose name I never was given, I felt this crawling sensation on the back of my neck. It felt like I was being watched. Despite surveying the hall several times, I could find no indication that this was the case. Shaking the weird feeling aside, I left. The children were no longer playing in the hall. With the depleting sun, more unwholesome figures had moved into the hallways. I put my head down and clenched my purse tightly to my side.

 

I arrived home with no incident, wrote up my adventures, and fell asleep quickly.

 

_I was in a hotel room, interviewing Senator Ori. He had just made his point about it being the city’s obligation to protect me. I smiled and glanced to the private police currently guarding his door. The irony wasn’t lost on him apparently._

_I was flying through the air, hot smoke burning my lungs and eyes. It smelled and tasted acrid. The breath had been knocked out of my lungs and I lay still for a brief moment. Suddenly I’m up, and there is Lewis. I’m on my knees in front of him, begging, and then there’s Frank. Lewis fires and Frank jumps in front of the bullet. It catches him in the temple and his blood and brain matter cover my face._

_I’m holding his body in my arms, wiping the blood and my tears off of his face when Lewis steps closer. The senator is gone and it’s just us, Frank’s lifeless body, Lewis and me. He lifts his weapon._

_“You did this.” He says._

_His finger twitches._

I’m thrown into consciousness so fast that it hurt. Pulling at my clothes disgustedly, I stripped them off while sitting on the bed. I had sweated through them and the sheets. I stood and pulled the sheets from the bed with a frustrated grunt. Sitting back on the naked mattress, I put my face in my hands, using my fingers to push away the tears that threatened to fall. I pushed against my eyes so hard that I could see spots dancing in front of my vision.  I had been dreaming of Frank for months. In each dream, he dies. It’s always my fault.

 

I often wonder to myself if this is why he disappeared, after everything. If maybe he knew that I’d be the one that got him killed. Officially Frank was dead. It wasn’t true, but it felt true. 

 

I dressed myself, dry swallowed some aspirin, and opened the door to my apartment.  My door stuck on something, causing it to stop abruptly. I leaned down and un-wedged a small bouquet of little white flowers. Fake. It caused my heart to thump hard in my chest, bringing me back to my nightmare. I walked into the hall, still clutching at the flowers. No one was there. “Frank” I whispered. The violence in which my heart dropped to the floor was unsettling. I took the flowers inside the apartment.

 

In the window, I kept an identical bouquet. Frank gave me this one too, when he needed my help. I put the second group of flowers in next to them, and absently fluffed them. I thought about that day for a moment. About bringing him to my apartment, about the relief I felt that he had come back to me. I sighed and left the apartment.


	2. Chapter 2

“I think this deserves another look. Please!” I thrust some of the paperwork that I’d gathered over Tom Sullivan’s judge, James Garonne, under Ellison’s nose. He took it sighing, and held it to his face.

 

“Okay, what am I looking at it. What am I seeing?”

 

“Don’t you think it’s funny that he’d put a kid away for self-defense? What’s worse, this is a pretty common story. Kids, young, going to detention facilities for basically nothing. Possessing paraphernalia, first offense. Petty theft, he stole his Gameboy out of his teacher’s desk, vandalism, trespassing. These are all minor misdemeanors, most are first time offenders. How is this normal?”

 

“You know, most people would say he’s cleaning up the city.”

 

I snorted at him. “He let that murdering gangster, Big Vinnie, walk, but put away a bunch of kids still wearing Elmo sneakers...There’s a story here. A real story, and it’s connected to Millcreek Juvenile Center.” I flipped an old issue of the Bulletin at him that featured an article about Garonne.

 

“James “the Hammer” Garonne is a local hero. Good luck getting anyone to talk.”

 

“You know as well as I do how quickly heroes can fall, especially around this place,” my reference to Frank was not lost on him. “He’s hiding behind his name, and his money, but he’s just as dirty as the rest of them and I’m going to prove it.”

 

I could tell he was finished when he flippantly lifted his hand in a “whatever” motion. I didn’t impede his progress out of the office. He still saw me as something to protect. Not that he believed I needed protection, but because he still hadn’t let Ben go, just like I hadn’t. His death weighed on the office, still. I gathered my things and went to visit Tom. I had some very bad news to deliver.

 

I sat in a room with cold metal tables, bench style seating. Tom kept his eyes on his hands, venturing a glance up once or twice. I smiled each time, but the silence was heavy. Between now and the last time I had seen him, he’d gotten in a fight of some sort. His eye was heavily bruised and lip was split. The lip looked like it was in danger of reopening at any second.

 

We could hear the chatter from the other kids whose family came to visit. Tom pointedly refused to look at them. This made me nervous, and caused a lump to form in my throat.

 

“Hey Tom, it’s really good to see you again.” I extended my hand towards his face, attempting to run my fingers across the deeply swollen socket. He jerked backwards, not allowing me to touch him. Fair enough, I thought. “Does that hurt?”

 

“No.” I nodded my head, trying to encourage him to say more. He didn’t.

 

“I have something to tell you. It... It isn’t going to be easy to hear, but I think you should know.” I paused, waiting for him to stop me, or indicate that he wasn’t interested in hearing, but he betrayed nothing. “Your mom...she...” He leaned closer, just fractionally, intent on hearing about her. “Tom, your mom got sicker, and she. She died.”

 

Tears welled in his eyes and his fists clenched and unclenched. I continued with only a brief pause, “Is there someone that you want me to call, any family? Someone who can be here with you.”

 

“I don’t have no one ma’am. Not anymore.” My heart broke for him. The boy was crying silently. His head bowed once more. I placed my hand on his and he didn’t move. It opened a wound inside me that I had not felt in a long time, and I cried with him. We were a pitiful pair for the briefest time, before a guard indicated that it was time for me to depart. I released his hand.

 

“I’ll come back okay. I’ll come back and see you again. I’m so sorry.” I could hear how little my words meant. I could feel their emptiness. Not because I didn’t mean them, but because they were so powerless to ease his pain. I could leave, be around people I knew, cared about, but he would be alone, no one to grieve with him.

 

When I got outside, I unlocked my phone and dialed Foggy’s number. It went to voicemail, but I needed to let him know that I was still around. That I was here and that we were family still.

 

“Hey, Foggy, it’s Karen. I just wanted to let you know...Well, to tell you that I was thinking about you. Don’t be a stranger, okay?”

 

I hung up. I didn’t have anything left to give the day. Mostly zoned out, my feet carried me to a familiar place. The dripping ceiling of multi-colored lights made me smile and sigh. I walked inside.

 

“Table for one please.”

 

I was ushered to an empty seat, and stared at the lights reflecting in the glass. I had brought Matt here once. I had tried to describe it to him, but now I know that he could see it, in his own way. I could only imagine how it looked through his, not eyes, but you know. Matt was still missing. We weren’t on good terms, and now that he was gone, and now maybe we’d never be okay again. It was a pain that was hard to process.

 

I had been too lost in thought to notice the figure standing in front of me. I heard him clear his throat, startling me into the present.

 

“Got room for one more?” I look up and met Frank’s eyes.

 

“Oh my god, Fr... Uh, it’s so good to see you.” I stood up, almost knocking over my drink, and threw my arms around his neck, hugging him to me tightly. He chuckled at my enthusiasm, but held tight. I only let him go when I could feel other people’s eyes on us. I smiled and waved a hand at the seat across from me. Instead of taking it, he sat next to me, pushing me closer to the window.

 

“Look like you might hurt yourself, thinking that hard.” I shook my head at him.

 

“I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

 

“Red?”

 

“Yeah, among other things...Like where in the hell you’ve been.” He moved slightly, discomfort maybe.

 

“I was wrong you know.”

 

“About what?”

 

“You and red. When I told you to hang on tight? I was hurting and just wrong.”

 

“No, you weren’t” He looked at me, but I smiled “Not about Matt, you were very definitely wrong about Matt. But, you’re right about holding on tight to something special. I know why you said it. We don’t need to talk about it. He’s gone.”

 

The words felt wrong. I couldn’t believe that Matt was gone. I guess it would be more accurate to say that I couldn’t accept it. Either way, Frank wasn’t pushing, and I really did appreciate the gesture. I told him about Tom and Garonne, how life had been without Matt and Foggy, about the nightmares. A look passed quickly over his face. It was concern, but he didn’t push the matter. While we ate, I opened up, and months of frustration, sadness, fear, contempt, everything just fell out. It was unguarded, real, and it felt good.

 

“I left the flowers out.” I murmured, looking at an empty plate on the table.

 

“I’m sorry I didn’t...reach out sooner. I’ve been dealing with some shit, you know.”

 

“No, of course, I didn’t mean to accuse you of anything. I just worried...and it’s possible that I might have missed you a little.”

 

“Picked a hell of a person to worry about.” He laughed and it caused me to roll my eyes. “But, Karen, you need to watch out with this story. Something isn’t right, and you’re good a pissing off the wrong people.” With this, he stood up and mumbled something. He disappeared. I waited, but when he didn’t return, I flagged a waitress. She let me know that the meal had been paid for. I thanked her and left.

 

I felt good. Better than I had in a long time. Instead of home, I walked the path to the hospital, hoping to charm my way into their records. Maybe Tom had a dad somewhere. It was possible, and maybe he’d give a shit what happened to him.

 

 

I was definitely not supposed to be there. I had snagged the keys off of the night guards desk while he was distracted by a disoriented old lady. He had been watching football highlights before that so I figured he wouldn’t miss them for a while.

 

I had to guess at Tom’s age, and hoped that Tom wasn’t a middle name. The hospital had kept old files per decade. I looked at children born in the 90’s with the last name Sullivan. No dice. I sighed heavily. Maybe he wasn’t born here. I put everything back together, and slid them back into their file cabinets. I handed the guard his keys, telling him that I had found them on the hallway floor and that I thought he might have dropped them. He thanked me several times before pocketing them. I was definitely going to hell.

 

My next stop was the Bulletin. The office was empty, but I knew my way around. I found myself in the old files, searching. I didn’t know what I was searching for until it landed on my lap.

 

_Young woman assaulted in the park, found unconscious by Honorable Judge James Garonne, suspect still at large._

 

Fuck. It was Tawny Sullivan. I copied the article and placed it in my ever-expanding folder. I was holding so many pieces, but none of it equaled any kind of bigger picture. No birth information. So, there either wasn’t any information or that record had disappeared. I was determined to talk to the Butcher that Tom had worked for, see if he had any information on him. I left the office and was enveloped by darkness. The surrounding streetlights were dark. I immediately felt uneasy, and placed my hand inside my purse, ready for whatever happened next.

 

Except I wasn’t.

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

I regained consciousness slowly, aware that my arms were stretched high over my head, bound by rope, and dangling from a large metal hook. My joints were achy and hot. I tried to place my feet underneath me, but even on my tiptoes, couldn’t gain enough ground to relieve my arms. I heard steps echoing and a heavy door moving on its tracks. Quickly I closed my eyes, hoping to hear something, anything, that would indicate where I was and who had me. I could hear men’s voices in the hall before the door closed. The tap tapping of a single pair of boots moved across the floor towards me. I felt a man’s rough hands on my chin. He lifted it.

 

“You can stop pretending, I know you’re awake.” My eyes opened wide and I kicked my legs out, putting all my weight on my swinging arms. I bit into my lip, trying to keep from screaming. My shoeless feet made contact with his groin and he doubled over, hand up as to beg for me to stop. It took a moment for him to catch his breath. In the meantime, he had moved further away from me, protecting his person. 

 

“I’m not going to kill you.”

 

“Bullshit, why am I here.”

 

“Garonne knows you’re on his trail. You have a reputation Karen Page,” upon seeing the confusion on my face, he smiled and laughed, “that’s right. I know who you are...and now you’re going to tell me what you know.” I struggled against the ropes that held me in place.

 

“I don’t know anything.”

 

“Okay, what do you think you know.” He walked behind me and gave me a little push, causing my body to swing and my arms to ache more deeply. I groaned despite the effort to keep the noise from escaping.

 

“You said you weren’t going to hurt me.”

 

“No, I said I wasn’t going to kill you...You have information that I need. This doesn’t have to be ugly. I just need you to tell me what you know.”

 

“Since you asked so nicely, you can go fuck yourself.” His smile never wavered. It gave him a slightly unhinged look, forcing a wave of fear through my shoulders, stomach, legs, straight down to my toes. 

 

“Maybe you tell me something, and I help you escape. No worse for wear.” My teeth were clinched against the pain and I was breathing hard, too hard. The pain was taking my breath away. I felt his hand on me again, he ran a single finger over my shoulder, down the middle of my back and rested it on lower back. I felt the single point of impact as if he had stabbed a knife into my flesh. It made my skin crawl and reflexively my throat muscles clenched. I was going to be sick. I could feel the bile rising slowly.

 

Before he could move the offending appendage any further down, the sound of ripping metal echoed around us, taking me back to the explosion in the hotel room. The shock forced the adrenaline through my body. Fight or flight, and I began shaking. Each pulse causing my shoulders to tighten. I flung my head back and cried out, but my tormentor was running towards the door that he had entered. His voice mingled with others, met by the sounds of gun shots. I fought through the pain and flung my body around to evaluate the room. I couldn’t see anything that would help. I tried to wrap my hand around the hook and pull myself upward, but I had been hanging in the same position for too long, and my muscles were spent. I was not aware of it at that time, but tears had begun to stream down my face.

 

It felt like an eternity before the noise stopped. After several failed attempts to free myself, I had stopped moving and tried to relax the best I could, knowing that I needed to be ready and level when whatever hell was coming, came through the door. I heard him before I saw him, the sound of heavy boots, the wrenching of metal. The steps quickened until I felt hands on my shoulder.

 

“NO” I cried out, and tried to use my body to strike out against the body near mine.

 

“Shhhh Shhhh. It’s okay Karen. It’s okay.” The sound of Frank’s voice caused me to sob loudly. He walked in front of me, wrapped his arms around my waist and pushed my body upwards. I wiggled the rope over the hook holding me, and my arms dropped heavily around Frank’s neck. I held tight and cried into his dirty black shirt. Mascara and snot ran down my face, but I could no longer hold it together. It had been so long since I had been that helpless, flashes of Wesley, the gun, the blood, the body, all going through my brain.

 

He continued to whisper reassuring words into my ear, but I couldn’t hear him. He lifted up my arms and cut them loose. They fell limply to my sides. He wrapped a hand around my wrist and pulled me towards the door.

 

I followed him out of the room and through a hallway. It wasn’t well it, but I could easily see a body lying in the floor. I squatted down the best that I could and used the sleeve of my sweater to rotate his face towards me. It wasn't him. I looked at Frank and he led me further down the passage. The silence was eerie. It wasn’t a complete silence, but one obviously devoid of human consciousness. I could hear the industrial lights buzzing overhead. The grime built up over years of use dimmed the lights substantially. I could hear the frustrated buzzing of bugs flying repeatedly into the lights, trying to escape.

 

We came to the last door on the left and there laid a group of men. I could see that several of them had been shot, blood oozing slowly. Their breathing was sallow, but they weren’t dead. I didn’t ask Frank why, I knew that he had done it this way for me. Or at least I assumed that he had.

 

I searched each face, but none of the men were him. I walked back the way we came, searching each room until I found his body. He was close to the room that I had been in before the attack. He was bleeding out on the floor. It appears that he had been crawling away and finally slipped into unconsciousness. Frank had knifed him at least three or four times to the torso. I wrapped my fingers inside of my sweater sleeve and used it as a glove to search the man’s back pocket. I could feel Frank hovering nearby. I took his wallet and shoved it in my sweater pocked, took Frank’s hand, and let him lead me outside.

 

Frank reached into a darkened corner before leading me to the exit, but could not immediately identify it. A big black muscle car had caused the sound of ripping metal. Frank had obviously rammed it straight into the building, taking off the door. The window was busted out now, but I opened the door and went to sit. He stopped me, pulling a scull adorned vest from the back seat and dropping it over the glass, then motioned for me to sit. It was only then I realized that he had retrieved my purse from the building.

 

I pushed out air in the way of a snort and sat back in the seat. Exhausted. It was only then that I really noticed the throbbing in the back of my skull. I rubbed my hand over it and cringed. They had knocked me unconscious so that I wouldn’t fight them. It was bleeding lightly, but ached dully. I suddenly felt tired, used up. I sighed deeply and closed my eyes.

 

_I was in the hotel room, interviewing the senator. Then I was flying through the air. I landed on the carpet, scraping my knees. My head throbbed and I held it tight, fighting for air in the acrid smoke. I took several deep breaths before grabbing my purse and searching for my gun._

_Shit, it was gone. The senator was cornered and I begged for his life on my knees. I looked up, searching for Lewis’ eyes, but found Frank’s instead. His finger twitched._

I woke up in the dark, breathing hard and fast. It took several minutes before I could calm down enough to assess the situation. I was definitely not in my apartment. I was wrapped up in a scratchy blanket. It was cold and the cold hurt my throat. I laid back, and used my hand to probe around me. My shoulder ached, bringing tears to my eyes. I tried to keep my motions small. I was on a mattress. It was on a carpeted floor, and the bed’s springs were sticking into my back.

 

“Frank” I called out, bordering on hysterics.

 

“I’m here Karen, it’s okay, I’m here.” I allowed myself to relax back into sleep.

 

The next morning found me in about the same condition. I rolled my head to the right and there was a bottle of pills and a dingy glass of water...or a clean glass of dingy water. At that point, I wasn’t that concerned with it. I twisted the cap off, popped a couple of pills in my mouth and swallowed them down.

 

Frank wasn’t there. I searched every corner of the one room efficiency apartment. It looked to have last been remodeled in the 70s. Thick mustard carpet covered the floor. The Formica cabinets, mint green, were chipped badly in places. There was a dark ring around the kitchen sink, beside which was a cheap drying rack with one bowl and one plate sitting neatly.

 

I glanced a wary eye at the rest of the place. A broken floral couch, tattered, moth eaten blanket covering the back. In front of it sat a scratched-up coffee table. My purse was sitting on top of it. The man’s wallet was open beside it. I pushed off the mattress, and walked to my purse. My file was gone, as was the flash drive that I saved my scanned research. I sat on the couch, head in hands. The throbbing in my head grew as the heat overtook my cheeks and once again I started to cry. God, I hated to cry.

 

“You okay.”

 

“Nope.” I said into my hands. I didn’t bother to look up, nor was I concerned that Frank had gotten inside without me hearing him.

 

“Coffee?” I extended my aching arm and he placed a light, hot cup inside of it. I brought it to my nose and smelled. Not feeling particularly picky, I took a sip. The rush of caffeine helped the screaming in my head subside. The tears unfortunately, were there to stay.

 

“They took everything out of my purse. Everything I had been working on, all my notes, my file. My notebook isn’t even in there.”

 

“Nah, I did that.” I looked at him sharply. “I packed all that shit back in your purse before I came to find you. Took it out to relieve you of whatever duty you feel bound to finish on this story. You’re done with it.”

 

I shook my head at him, cutting my eyes sharply, “The hell I am. I’m close. They’re running scared Frank.”

 

“Is that what you call what was happening in that room? Them running scared?” he snorted derisively at this, “That’s bullshit Karen and you know it.”

 

“I can take care of myself.”

 

“That’s just about reflex now, huh. Nobody’s questioning the size of your stones girl, you got em for sure, but seeing you like that last night...I can’t. I can’t see you like that again. I won’t.”

 

“I didn’t ask you to Frank. People deserve the truth. Tom deserves the truth.” Frank cut me off before I could finish my thought.

 

“Stop. I’m not going to lose you to this Karen.” Emotion raising in his voice. I had to look away to keep him from seeing the tears creep back up. I picked up the man’s wallet and looked up at Frank in shock. At some point during the night, Frank had teased open a hidden pocket in the wallet, revealing FBI credentials.

 

“He was undercover?”

 

“Appears so.” Frank looked at her and continued. “After I dropped you off, I went back to the warehouse, but everything was gone. Blood, bodies, everything. I dumped the car and made my way back here on foot. Whoever, that agent is after, he’s got heft. He’s got the hardware, heavy hitters, the works, and you need to stay the hell out of it.”

 

“I guess we’re at an impasse Frank, because I have absolutely no intention of stopping now.” Frank shook his head at this and smiled.

 

“I should’ve left your ass dangling. Let you think over the hazards of this job.” I laughed, and manipulated the left and right shoulder joints the best that I could. I inspected the rope burns on my wrists. My sweater had been pushed to my elbows and had not protected the skin that was now purplish red with deep welts.

 

“I’m starting to become very intimately aware. So how is it that you were so conveniently in the neighborhood last night?”

 

“Followed you.”

 

“No shit, any particular reason why?”

 

“That’s how I’ve spent every Tuesday and Thursday for the last six months.” He grinned puckishly at me.

 

“That’s not normal.”

 

He walked towards me, expression unreadable, and placed his hand on the back of my neck. He gently pushed my head forward and moved my hair away from the swollen lump on the back of my head. He felt around with his fingers, only stopping when I groaned lightly. He lightly moved the hair back into place, letting it fall over my shoulders. He put his hand lightly on my right shoulder in a comforting way. His calloused hands felt very present. The weight and heat of it was something that I was not used to, not for a long time. He took his other hand and held my forearm, avoiding my injured wrist, his body gently touching mine and extended my arm. He felt the muscles sliding under my skin, evaluating the damage. Before he could fully extend it over my head, I hissed in air, the dull ache becoming sharp.

 

He repeated the process with the other arm, making it all the way over my head before I sucked in air, indicating that I could take no more. He walked around and sat on the scratched wood table, eyes on mine. He ran his finger over my busted lip. He touched me with a tenderness that I rarely saw, and it made me ashamed, like I was a child. Injured while misbehaving. The thought made me blush, and anger sparked deeply inside of me. I moved my face way from his touch. Taking the hint, he dropped his hands and looked at me, waiting until I met his gaze. I did reluctantly.

 

“You won’t stop. You’ll never stop. That’s why I... It’s...” He exhaled the breath he was holding, moving his hand over his buzzed hair. “I saw it in you. When we talked in the hospital. I knew you’d never stop.”

 

I put my hand on his shoulder. “I’m fond of you too Frank. I’ve got somewhere to go. You can come if you want.”

 

 

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

I sat across from Tom. The bruise over his eye had started to yellow, but he walked with a limp. More indication that he had been in another fight.

 

“Who’s doing this to you?” Tom looked at me, but didn’t answer. “Seriously, which little shits did this to you.”

 

He nodded his head, implicating someone behind me. Turning discretely, I saw the oldest of the boys that had given me a tour around the facility. The boy was sitting next to a woman with white blond hair and too much makeup. Her Louis Vuitton purse was sitting forgotten beside her. We had all been asked to check our belongings at the door, my own purse now sat in a box behind the receptionist’s counter. I had been right about him. Moneyed. I turned back to face Tom. We didn’t say anything for a long time.

 

“Tom, who is your dad” His eyes met mine, and he leaned away, like he was considering bolting away from the table. I reached over and covered his hand with mine. “Please, I know this is going to be hard, but just tell me what you can.”

 

He relaxed, lulled by my calming tone. I kept my eyes on his and waited, silence spreading.

 

“I don’t know my dad. Mom said she didn’t know for sure. That he hurt her really bad and she couldn’t remember.”

 

“That’s okay, hey, that’s good. You did really good.” I couldn’t push him into recounting his mother’s assault any further than I already had. I smoothed a piece of his hair. He tensed again and I pulled my hand back. I had to remind myself that not all people had a stomach for human touch.

 

“She said I have his eyes.”

 

“That can’t be true. Your eyes are too kind to belong to anyone but you.” I smiled at him and asked about his day, what he did for fun. The invisible force that weighed him down had slipped away for the briefest time and he talked and laughed freely with me. Before I left, I promised to visit again.

 

Tom was ushered out, and the families all began to leave. As a guard was leading Tom’s tormentor out of the room, I stepped in front of them. His mother had turned at the door to watch as I leaned in close.

 

“If you touch him again, I will make you regret it, understand?” The boy looked surprised, but nodded his head silently. His mother’s mouth dropped, and the guard eyed me closely. I gave the guard my darkest glare and walked to the door, smiled sweetly at the boy’s mother, and then left the building after grabbing my things.

 

Frank had the driver’s window down, hat pulled low over his face, and was apparently in a deep, relaxed sleep. I rolled my eyes. Must have been a result of his time in service. I opened my door, and took a seat, hesitant to wake him.

 

“How was the visit Mother Theresa.”

 

“Oh, Frank, you’re awake, how nice.” I said with a honeyed sarcasm that would have made my grandmother proud.

 

“Where too now?”

 

“George Kannapolis. He’s a butcher.”

 

George was a nice older man, deep wrinkles, weathered hands, white hair. He had taken Tom on as a favor to his mother. He had been a potential suitor before she had gotten pregnant with Tom, believed that he really had a shot with her and was more than willing to raise the boy as his own. It hadn’t happened that way. She had been haunted by what had happened to her. It had driven them apart, but he never stopped loving her.

 

I asked him about Tom’s birth, and he smiled.

 

“Tawny never did like hospitals. Found herself a doula.”

 

“A doula?”

 

“Midwife. Took 12 hours to deliver him. Prettiest baby I’d ever seen. 8 pounds 4 ounces. She filed all the right paperwork, but wouldn’t step foot in the hospital. I remember the first time I held him. You know what that’s like Pete?”

 

I looked at Frank wide eyed, not knowing what to expect.

 

“I do. Cried like a baby. I was deployed when my little girl was born, but man I remember holding my baby boy. Felt like my heart would melt right out of my chest.”

 

George and Frank shared a moment, one that only fathers could appreciate. I took the silence as an opportunity to ask the him about Tawny. I felt like an intruder in their loss, but needed to a get at the real reason that I had come. 

 

“What can you tell me about that night? About the night she was attacked?”

 

George stayed silent a moment longer, considering the question and his answer.

 

“That James Garonne, he isn’t who everyone thinks he is. Real womanizer. Didn’t always wait for them to say yes neither. Never did buy that story he was selling, bout finding her like that. Miss, I wasn’t there, but if I had to guess, Garonne was the one who hurt my girl.”

 

I could tell that the memory affected him deeply. I placed a hand on his shoulder, thanked him for his help. Him and Frank shook hands, and George’s hand lingered for a moment, cementing their bond.

 

I had a pretty good picture of what had happen, but had to find something to back up the claim that Garonne wasn’t a nice guy. I hadn’t come across anything damning while searching old newspaper articles. Court records weren’t likely to produce anything. I seriously doubted that any woman that he’d hurt would come forward. Who would’ve believed them. James was a local legend. He had a lurid boxing career, and was a decorated army vet, using the GI bill to get his education. 

 

I would have to dig up names from his past, push harder. Frank would definitely not approve of this decision, but I knew it had been Garonne that had assaulted Tom’s mother that night in the park, beating her senseless while he violated her. He must have gotten his point across because Tawny never made a report, and Garonne got to play the hero that night by taking her to the hospital, like some goddamn good Samaritan.  

 

My thoughts drifted to Tom. I truly wanted to find Garonne and beat the truth out of him, unbury the experiences of what I assumed had to be dozens of women. This pulled at something deep inside of me. The feeling of helplessness and fear; the fear of reliving it every time someone moved in the shadows. The fear of not being believed. My heart ached. I found my way back to the car. I don’t know how. I don’t know how I walked up the steps into Frank’s apartment, but when I finally made it into the apartment, my vision blurred. Despair wrapped around me tightly. 

 

The emptiness that I felt inside must have been palpable. Frank caught me before I collapsed to the floor. He held me tight, forehead pressed against mine. My heart thumped hard, throat tight. I could feel him move, his lips against my cheek, a calming sound coming deep from his chest, almost a coo. Then his lips were pressed against the side of my mouth, then hovering over my lips. I felt his breath against them. I could smell coffee and something that was undeniably Frank. I pressed my lips against his. His hand wrapped gently around the back of my neck, holding us together. I moaned lightly, breaking the spell over him. 

 

He released me, with a glance he stood up and went to the table. “I have something for you.” His voice was deeper. “I got his accountant to give up some information that will help build a case against him. At least prove that he’s taking kickbacks. It won’t do anything for the other stuff. For Tom’s mom.”

 

“Does this mean you approve?”

 

“Shit no.”

 

I took the documents he gave me and looked them over. He was right. The numbers didn’t look right. I flipped through the pages, looking over domestic and international accounts with numbers way too impressive for a New York City judge. He had been making some serious investments into something.

 

I looked over some of his property holdings. James appeared to have purchased a large property shortly before he took his post. I looked over a cluster of numbers, Parcel ID. I pulled my bag close to me and reached for the file folder without looking up. My hand found nothing. I looked up and cut my eyes at Frank. He sighed loudly, walked to a trunk in the corner, and extracted my file. He brought it to me and I pulled it from his hand. He held it tight for just a moment before letting it slip out of his hand.

 

I waited until Frank had left the apartment before leaving to go to the library. The assistant, who was quite familiar with me at this point, waved enthusiastically and I returned it with a smile. I buried myself in the reference section, large red orange records, bound into one volume, lay on the floor in front of me. I found the parcel number that I was looking for, but was confused when, upon referencing it with the “real” address, found that it was a fast food joint.

 

I put away the volumes that I had been looking over after copying them, and logged onto a computer. Half an hour later, I found the connection. I printed out the missing pieces, and placed it in the folder. My phone chirped in my purse as I walked outside. Figuring it was Frank, I didn’t immediately answer, but after it had gone to voicemail and started once again, I got an odd feeling. I slid my hand inside the void and came out with the phone. “Unknown” was plastered on the face where caller information and phone number usually displayed.

 

I answered after it began to ring for a third time.

 

“Karen Page.” I looked around to make sure that no one was going to attack me while I was preoccupied on the call. Once I was satisfied, I answered slowly.

 

“Can I help you with something?”

 

“I think I can help you. Made a call this morning and Tom, well he was in an accident. Been taken to the infirmary. Meet me at Reagan Park or maybe he doesn’t make it.”

 

“Listen here you son of a bitch, if you hurt that boy I swear.” The voice interrupted my threats.

 

“You won’t do shit lady. Meet me in 20. No calls, we’ll be watching.”

 

I jerked my head around again, but still saw nothing. I put my phone back in my purse and placed my hand over my gun. The grip in my hand helped the growing sense of dread recede, however temporary that would be. I shuffled up the cold street, jacket pulled tight over my body.

 

When I arrived at the park, all the lights were out. It had only been dark for 10-15 minutes, but without the help of the florescent bulbs, the space seemed ominous. I strained my ears, but could not hear anything. I walked further into the park, using the lights from the surrounding city to navigate. In the middle of the park sat an empty merry-go-round.

 

“You’ve been quite a pain little lady. Didn’t think it would come to this.” The voice in the dark startled me, but I remained silent. He cracked his knuckles.

 

 “Come to what?” I asked softly. I still couldn’t see him, but I had heard his voice on TV enough to know that I was speaking to the infamous James Garonne.

 

“Why have you been bothering me?”

 

“I think you’re a liar.” I abandoned caution for directness.

 

“You’re lacking in manners. Maybe I should teach you some.”

 

“You can’t teach what you don’t have.” I glared in the direction of his voice. He called out to someone behind him and a spotlight was lit. I hadn’t heard more than one person approach. I figured they walked up unnoticed while I was focusing on James.

 

The light blinded me, but I looked, almost unblinkingly at the man in front of me. He was taller, and larger than I had expected. In the papers and on TV, he’d looked old, bowed, unassuming. He obviously knew how to the play the game, because I had him pegged for a man way past his prime. I was so wrong.

 

“I was just going to try to talk to you, maybe lay down some money to keep you quiet. I don’t think I’m going to do that now.”

 

“This is the age of social media, camera phones. Instant reporting. Everyone, literally everyone, is watching all the time James. Everyone is going to find out about you. Hell, how do you know I’m not recording this right now?”

 

I knew what he was going to do, and in that split second from a position of rest to one of chaos, I acted. I pulled out the .28 and frantically shot in Garonne’s direction. I grazed his knee, but didn’t stop him from charging. He and his men were running towards me and I emptied my gun into them. One man fell down, clutching his shoulder. I turned to run, but a man wrapped his hands in my hair and pulled me back. I was yanked heavily to the ground. I tried to raise the empty gun, bluff them, but the man kicked my wrist hard, causing me to drop it. I cried out, trying to crawl away, but this caused the man to laugh and put his booted foot hard into my stomach.

 

He waited, and I saw Garonne clearly. I heard his voice, but not the words. I didn’t need to hear the words. I knew that he had told them to kill me. I raised myself to my hands and knees, spitting blood onto the ground, and gave him a look of deep defiance.

 

“You will not get away with this.” I glared at him as he raised a gun. I turned as quickly as I could, trying to put my back between us. The shot was deafening, and then pain. The deepest, aching pain spread through my body, radiating from somewhere that I could not define. The world went watery and dark.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

_I was in the hotel. I was not interviewing the senator like so many times before. Instead, I was sitting across from Tom. My had was lightly on his hand and he looked happy. Genuinely happy. We talked and laughed, and it felt like it wouldn’t end, but the inevitable happened. The door exploded, throwing us across the room. I looked up to see a figure shoot the two guards in the head. I scrambled to my purse, gun was gone. I threw myself in front of Tom, begging for his life. Garonne smiled, one gold tooth glimmered in the light. He shot Tom in the head, and as his face exploded in front of me, I lost all sense of time. I scooped his lifeless body up in my arms and held him tight, crying and begging for him to come back. Please. I’ll give anything that I have. Garonne, pointed the gun at me, but as the gun went off, Frank jumped in front of me. The bullet hit his arm and he landed hard with a grunt. Garonne turned on him, temporarily forgetting about me. He walked slowly towards him and squared up. For a moment, I knew, I was going to lose Frank too. But then something happened. I noticed that a leg of the table had been blown off. I moved as quietly as I could in the chaos, picked it up and ran toward Frank. The gun went off, but instead of Frank’s faceless form, the bullet planted squarely in the wall. I had clubbed Garonne and he lay bleeding on the floor. I brought the club down on him, over and over and over and over, until a hand was on my shoulder. I turned to look and it was Tom. He looked okay. I had never noticed how tall he was. Maybe because I’d always looked at him like a scared child. He embraced me tightly._

I woke groggily. The whirring of machines surrounded me. “Fr..Frank.”

 

“I’m here Karen.” I could hear him moving closer.

 

“Um, I’ll just be in the waiting room.” A voice offered. For a moment I couldn’t place it, but then realized that it was Ellison. I smiled the best I could.

 

“Frank, Is... Is Tom okay?”

 

“Girl, you are ripping my heart out. Is this what you wanted?” I looked at him through the only eye that I could open, as he banged his hand hard on his chest. “By the time I got to you, they’d already done...This. I thought you were dead.” Tears streamed freely down his face and he paced from my bed and back furiously.

 

“Frank please.” He stopped at my bedside and waited. “Please call Millcreek.” I waited, barely breathing, for Frank to pick up the phone and dial. Every ring was anguish, waiting to hear the news that Tom was dead. That they had killed him to clean up after themselves. Finally, someone answered, and I strained to hear. Frank had barely hung up the phone before I started questioning him.

 

“He’s fine. Never was hurt. You fell for the most used fucking trick in the goddamn book.”

 

“I know...Frank, I know what Garonne did.”

 

“God Karen, no. Just stop.” He sat heavily on the bed, head in his hands. I shifted my arm, reaching for him, and placed my hand lightly on his arm. He laid down next to me, arms surrounding me the best that they could with the tubes and drips and monitors in his way. He held me for so long that I fell asleep. When I woke up, the room was dark. Someone had turned the light out on us. I could hear Frank’s steady breathing. His face was next to mine, but still visible in the greenish glow of the machines. I was struck, momentarily, with the affection that I felt for him. In that moment, it was overwhelming and I felt a lump rise in my throat.

 

I had almost gotten myself killed for this story, and he would have lost yet another family. It would have broken him, again. I would have broken him. He was nowhere near being whole to start with. What right did I have to take away what he had worked so hard to regain. I could feel tears leaking from my eyes. They ran across the cuts on my face and burned, but I didn’t care. I moved closer to him, and kissed him. I don’t know at what point that he had woken up, but he was awake now and returning the kiss, slowly, gently. My heart ached. It was like being home.

 

Our kiss didn’t last long. He pulled away, grappling with his own inner demons. I granted him reprieve by asking what had happened.

 

“I left to get food. 5 minutes. Only 5 minutes. You were gone.” His voice broke and he stared blankly at the wall for a moment, gathering his thoughts.

 

“I cloned your phone, that night at the restaurant. Something I picked up months back. The pricks were gone when I got there. Whoever took that shot at you wasn’t an ace. It missed anything vital. I’m guessing it was your FBI buddy from the warehouse.... I called an ambulance and your lawyer buddy.” He took another moment before I urged him to continue.

 

“I couldn’t be at a crime scene when they picked you up.... Leaving you like that. It was like losing...losing my family all over again. They didn’t know if you’d wake up.” He stopped and squeezed my body tighter. It made me squeal just a little, but he didn’t loosen his grip. I changed the subject.

 

“So, what did you and Ellison talk about?” Frank laughed at the question and it made me smile. I could imagine exactly how it went. Ellison’s horror at figuring out that Frank was at my bedside. Him immediately thinking back on all the disagreements that we’d had, and hoping I hadn’t told Frank any of it.

 

“He hasn’t left the hospital since they brought you in.”

 

“So, he knows who you are.”

 

Frank snorted. “yep.”

 

Frank told me that I had been unconscious for several days. Apparently, I had been going in and out for the last day. Tossing and moaning in my sleep. Now that I was awake, everything was starting to heal and itch. It was uncomfortable, but I was alive.

 

Foggy came in the next morning. He side-eyed Frank while he helped me prepare a statement for the police. I could very easily identify Garonne and my attacker, but I asked Foggy to buy some time before the cops came in with any questions. I could hear him making small talk with Brett in the hall. Brett didn’t seem amused, but everyone around him was.

 

“I need you to go to the library.”

 

“Really ain’t the time for light reading Karen.” I waved my hand dismissively and scooted a notepad and pen to the tray in front of me. I wrote down where and what I was looking for and handed it to Frank.

 

He came back with copied documents that Garonne’s parcel number had been reassigned and that its “real” address was actually the Millcreek Juvenile Center. Garonne had been offered a hefty sum to build the center on his property. It was a leased property that provided Garonne with a very nice monthly stipend. He also received a nice kickback from each resident that he added to the center. He’d concealed any conflict of interest. 

 

Brett Mahoney stared at me. His usually tough demeanor temporarily forgotten.

 

“Looks like you got yourself into some trouble Miss Page.”

 

“You can call me Karen. I think we’re just about on first name basis by now.” He snorted at my response.

 

“That’s no joke. Why don’t you go ahead and tell me exactly how and why this happened” He gestured at my current condition.

 

“I’ve been chasing after James Garonne. I think he was the perpetrator of a sexual assault against Tawny Sullivan 16 years ago...and he owns the land that Millcreek was built on and has been sending kids there for kickbacks.”

 

“That’s a pretty serious accusation.”

 

“Obviously.” I said, nodding towards the machines hooked into my arm.

 

“Got any proof?” Brett shifted in the chair beside the bed, looking very interested in my response.

 

“I do actually.” I pulled a brown folder from the table beside me and handed it to him. “There’s a drive in their too, so be careful” Brett looked over the information that Frank had gotten from Garonne’s accountant.

 

“I think you’ll find that at least one very large deposit coincides with Big Vinny’s acquittal. Also, the monthly returns from his “investments” are a pretty good read too.”

 

“He the one that did this to you?” Brett’s face was unchanged, but I knew that seeing me this way was pissing him off. He and I weren’t friends by any stretch of the imagination, but he was a good man, and an honest cop. I wanted to give him everything that he needed to nail Garonne.

 

“Him and a very small army. I’m interested in pressing charges.”

 

Brett wrapped up the interview and shook my hand lightly. I found out later that FBI had been on Garonne’s trail for two years. They had an undercover agent working with a local prosecutor to build a case against Garonne and others in his network. Judges, lawyers, cops, and contractors had all been implicated. Ultimately, Garonne and four other judges went down for criminal corruption. 

 

Ellison insisted that I be the one to write it up. It had been my case from the beginning. He brought in a laptop, and I wrote the article from my hospital bed. I included Tom in the story. A life damaged by the greed of one man, the city’s fallen angel. It may have been a little preachy, but I was on some serious painkillers.

 

I hadn’t been able to include the allegations of sexual assault, not having anyone to help corroborate. It was devastating. I couldn’t help but think about the women who had suffered under Garonne’s hands.

 

Frank had been suspiciously absent the last week of my hospital stay, which made me anxious, but Tom had been released. Foggy filed an appeal on his behalf, and his case was quickly dismissed. The judge had gone so far to apologize to him and his late mother.

 

Tom sat next to me in the hospital room, silent, contemplative.

 

“What will you do now?” I asked as I gathered my things into a suitcase that Foggy had brought from my apartment.

 

“I don’t know ma’am. Mr. George says he’s got a room in the back of the shop. He said I could stay there if I wanted.” Tom was sitting in a chair by the bed, the same one that Brett had occupied the week before. His hands were clasped in his lap. I stopped what I was doing and put my hand on his shoulder, looking in his eyes.

 

“You should accept. It’s a really good opportunity for you, and he loves you, you know.” Tom looked at me, a small smile spread over his face and it warmed me.

 

A tired nurse interrupted us and told me that I had been discharged. My face was still heavily bruised and I had to wear my arm in a sling tight to my chest. When I picked up my suitcase to leave, Tom intervened and took it from my hand.

 

“I don’t mind.” He said, and I released it to his grasp. Tom walked me home from the hospital. He hugged me, hesitantly, and I embraced him. He pulled away, but I appreciated the gesture. We said our goodbyes and I put my key in the door, finally ready to put everything behind me and move forward. When I walked inside, I noticed a piece of paper had been slid underneath the door. I flipped it open and read it.

 

The writing was messy. The note had obviously been composed quickly. Once I had gotten to the end, I quickly read it again. After the third reading, I grabbed the coat I had tossed on my couch and ran outside to hail a cab.

 

I walked up the familiar steps, door still broken. The children were laughing and playing in the halls, reminding me of the last time I had been there. I passed Tawny’s door, running my fingers across the compressed materials that served as a door. I passed three other doors before stopping and knocking loudly.

 

“Mrs. Riley, Katherine?” I heard some shuffling from the other side, but no one responded. I knocked again.

 

“I got your letter, the one you left under my door...and I just wanted to ask you some questions about it. Is that okay?” I heard someone turn the locks slowly and peek through the door.

 

The woman had green eyes and soft features. Her hair was red with streaks of white around the temple. She opened the door just wide enough for me to squeeze through. I followed her to the Living room and sat when she gestured to the couch. We stared at each other for a moment before I finally broke the silence.

 

“I... I read your letter. How did you find me...find where I live?”

 

“Like I said in my letter miss, I heard you talking to Dana...The woman living across from Tawny’s apartment. You introduced yourself and I recognized your name from the papers. I have some friends at the post office and they agreed to help me out and get the letter to you. I hope you don’t mind.”

 

“Um no, I don’t mind. Thank you for sharing your story...I’m really sorry that all this happened to you.” I shuffled my things to the side, and pulled the folded letter from my bag. I placed it on the table carefully. “Can I ask you some questions about it?” The woman nodded her consent.

 

“You said that James Garonne hurt you, and that you know that he hurt Tawny too. Would you tell me a little more about that, if you can?” The woman stayed silent for a moment.

 

“I was 16, Tawny was 17. We liked the Irish boys, you know? We were good, well behaved girls for our ages, but we were known to go to a fight or two behind our parents’ backs...He got me first. Few weeks before Tawny. He didn’t beat me, but you know. He did things. We didn’t really use the word rape when I was coming up. If a girl got hurt, it was her own fault for not being a good girl. I told my father. He didn’t believe me. He said, “no daughter of mine will be caught whoring around” and sent me to the sisters of Sacred Heart.” The faraway look in her eyes made my heart ache for her. I reached across the table and grasped her hand. She allowed me the moment of contact before continuing, unshed tears visible in her eyes.

 

“Tawny, she wasn’t so lucky. He beat her. Told her if she ever said anything that he’d put a bullet in her. Said some other stuff too, about how no one would ever believe her. He did this before he went off to school. He was 26, I think. I don’t know exactly.” She smoothed her skirt, lost momentarily in thought.

 

“I think you’re really brave. For talking about this. Do you know anyone else that he hurt, like he did you and Tawny?” She nodded and looked at me determinedly.

 

“Got a pen? I can give you some names.”

 

I slid my notebook to her and turned to face the pictures on her wall.

 

“Are these your children, your husband?” She paused momentarily and glanced at the photographs. She smiled proudly and nodded. We fell back into comfortable silence while I looked over the pictures of graduations and grandchildren. Katherine lived a good life, despite the horrible things that had happened to her. When she was finished, I hugged her tight.

 

“Good luck, I certainly hope I’ve given you what you needed.”

 

I gingerly placed the notebook into my purse and nodded. “This is more than enough. Thank you.” I didn’t need luck, now that I had sources.

 

I arrived at the prison half an hour after wrapping up my conversation with Mrs. Riley. It had almost not been a choice, more of a compulsion. I had to face him. Luckily, I had caught the last 15 minutes of visiting hours, and for some reason, Garonne agreed to speak with me. We stared at each other through the glass, harsh light shining over us, revealing the depth at which our meeting had exhausted us both. I picked up the phone on my side of the glass and waited. He did the same. 

 

“You’re looking well, Miss Page.” He examined my bruised face and smiled, probably remembering the sound of fists cracking against it, or the snap of bones breaking underneath their heavy hands.

 

“You don’t.”

 

“What is it I can help you with?” His smile never faltered. He thought he had power over me. Probably thought that he scared me. Maybe he did, just a little, but a fire burned through me, and I shuffled my hand into my purse, holding the phone tight between my face and shoulder. 

 

I pulled loose the notebook with names scrawled across it, and placed it to the glass. “I got you, asshole.” He looked it over and the blood drained from his face. “What reputation you had is gone, Garonne, and all those women you hurt...Everyone is going to know. Your wife, kids, family. Wonder what they’ll think about you when all of this comes out...It isn’t as fun hurting a woman that can hurt you back, is it?” James dropped the phone and threw a fist at the glass. I watched his knuckles bust across it, lines of blood splintering through the skin. The guards reacted quickly, pulling him away, but I didn’t move. My eyes didn’t leave his as they dragged him away. I could feel everyone’s eyes on me, but I didn’t flinch.

 

 

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

I got off the phone with Ellison several hours later. With each word, I sunk deep into my mattress. Putting the phone down gently, I buried my head into my pillow. Garonne had hung himself in his cell. Frank knocked lightly on the door, but I did not answer. He had posted himself on my couch after my visit to the prison, and was now standing in my doorway hesitantly. I breathed heavily into my pillow, calming myself, when I felt the bed shift under Frank’s weight. 

“Garonne killed himself.” 

“That wasn’t your fault. He was a piece of shit, and he got what he deserved.”

“Yeah.” I said distractedly. Upon feeling his hand touch my shoulder, I turned to him, searching for his eyes in the dark. 

“Then why are you chewing on this?”

“I... I don’t know. There’s something that’s not always right with me. Something mean, angry, and it’s growing. I notice it the longer I’m in the city...You’re right, Garonne deserved what he got, but I’m happy about it. Satisfied with it, and that scares me.”

“You aren’t happy that he died. You’re happy that the people he hurt got justice. That isn’t evil Karen, there is nothing evil about you. You can’t live in a city like this without getting a little filth on you.” 

I sat up, and looked at him. “You don’t know everything about me. I have secrets. I’ve hurt people. Maybe, I’m not any better than the people that you hunt.” 

Frank pinned my body to his, arm tight against my lower back, mouth pressed against my ear, his breathing deep, upset. 

“You think that huh? That’s bullshit. Bullshit. I would never hurt you, anyone like you. You’re all heart, always was.” He let me go, but our bodies stayed close, hearts racing. I put my hand on his arm. “Please.” I begged. For what, I don’t know. Maybe to end the hurt, all of it. Make my fear go away. He was tense under my hand, but I moved slowly to his chest. “Please” I said again, and he put his hand over mine, maybe at first to stop me. Instead, he put my hand to his lips. 

At that moment, I didn't care what this was, who or what we were to each other. I stopped for the briefest time, wondering if I was a surrogate for Maria. Him and I, we were family. Two broken people who needed something, anything, to feel human. To feel alive. I shifted my body onto his, and he moved his hands to my thighs. His next kiss wasn’t nice. It was deep, and crushing, and full of need. I nipped his lip with my teeth and smiled. 

“Come on, girl.” He grunted as he fell back on the bed, struggling with his pants. I pulled my shirt over my head and slid my body down over his, trapping his hands, teasing.

The chirping of my phone interrupted us. 

“Fuck.” We stopped, heavy breathing and waited. It sounded off again and again. I looked over at the clock, 4am. He sat up, one strong arm holding me to him and snagged the phone, handing it to me. I looked at the number. Ellison again. 

“Yeah?” I asked timidly. My body went limp as I listened, phone falling out of my hand onto the mattress. “Frank, it’s Fisk.” I extracted myself and walked into the living room, flipping on my television. The news was already breaking. The city’s Kingpin, Wilson Fisk escaped with the help of unknown associates. His whereabouts are not currently known. 

I let out a small yell and knocked my unopened mail from a side table, before sitting roughly on the floor in a bundle, head in hands. I turned on the lamp that I had knocked off the table. It was sitting beside me, casting light on the floor around me. A letter with no return address lay crumpled up in a heap with the other mail. It came in a prison envelope. I opened it shakily. One neatly folded page came out in my hand. The writing was tidy, small, and I began to read. 

Ms. Page, 

You have been a busy woman, and most adept reporter. I did not expect this from you, and for this I am sorry. It is always a sin to underestimate someone with so much potential. You also seem to be skilled at convincing people that you are an honorable woman, worth defending. Mr. Ulrich certainly thought you were worth protecting. Even moments before I strangled the life from him, he concealed your involvement with my mother, and the death of my dear friend, Wesley. Unfortunately, I cannot absolve you from this particular crime, despite my admiration for your specific talents. 

We will meet soon. 

W. Fisk 

I handed him the letter. At first, he did not respond. His eyes were locked on the wall. Finally, he took it and read it. In that moment, I watched his eyes empty, change. He was no longer Frank Castle. He was something entirely different, a preternatural killer, single-mindedly driven to protect and avenge the ones that he loves. The Punisher. My hero.


End file.
